


The Learning Curve

by jaceyboiii



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Basically Jim seeing Bones being lonely and finding a nice twink to warm his lap, Daddy bones, Friends With Benefits, Grumpy Leonard "Bones" McCoy, In Which Jim Kirk is a Crafty Bastard, Language Kink, M/M, McChekov, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Questioning, Sexuality Crisis, Shore Leave, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-07 18:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17965565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaceyboiii/pseuds/jaceyboiii
Summary: When your best friend refuses to admit he's hit a wall yet frequently drowns out his sorrows with whiskey and bourbon, and a lively young officer confides in you his growing curiosity about experimenting with same-sex relations, it's only natural that you'll join a few dots and kill two birds with one stone.





	1. Ask and Ye Shall Receive

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: This fic has a [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpUGIEIByRgAudEJFk_LlK8ZWpcTJzt_m) now, check it out 👌  
> 

A subtle computer-generated melody drifted through the air of the captain’s quarters, its occupant humming along enthusiastically as he sifted through his wardrobe. No longer reaching for the command yellow starched uniform that blurred James T Kirk’s past 6 months into a hazy monotone, he grasped the hangers entrusted with his civilian clothes and chucked whole sets of them out onto his bed. A giddy smile lit up his features as he picked and chose from the outfits almost forgotten in their previous home at the back of the closet, folding the occasional shirt or pair of jeans to tuck into the open suitcase laying at the foot of the bed. With the Enterprise making a pitstop at the newly refurbished Yorktown starbase for repairs and other general maintenance after their recent brush with the Gorn, the crew had been granted a week of shore leave, captain inclusive, and Kirk intended to make the most of it. Fraternisation regulations meant that the hapless playboy in him had to be kept at bay aboard the starship and on away missions - flirting and charming to his heart's content, but no follow-through lest he wanted to be brought before the admiralty _again_. Naturally, there were a few indulgent moments here or there, but they were strictly off the record and only in truly dire emergencies. While his conjugal visits to the CMO’s office were met with the same weary grumbling every time, they were bartered for with his cooperation in physical exams, so they slipped under the radar as a non-event and neither party would say a single word of it later. It was a system, and that system worked. As far as he could tell anyway.

The captain’s issue was a fairly shallow one, one of wanting a bit of physical release that an exerting workout just couldn't quite provide. McCoy’s… he wasn't sure was so simple. The divorce - a taboo subject as it had been deemed - was 7 years old at that stage and not once had Jim seen the poor doctor with somebody new on his arm. Being his best friend, the blond made it his business to know the ins and outs of Leonard McCoy’s personal life, but the honest details were spread very thin. The man worked himself to the bone day in and day out, drank himself silly at least once a week, collapsed into bed then let the cycle repeat itself when he woke up on Monday morning. The highlights of his life were probably meeting new alien species that were 1) peaceful and 2) had medical technologies more advanced than or on par with Starfleet’s, or the late nights the captain would saunter all dejected into his office and climb into his lap, whimpering for a quick fuck. Jim liked to hope his little ventures took some of the monotony out of his friend’s routine anyway - the good doctor may have gotten mouthy when the senior staff came back from missions being rushed into his Med Bay, or was straightforward and blunt if he knew something deeper was troubling those around him, but was a very courteous and tight lipped man when it came to the captain’s _physical_ needs. Thus Jim could never tell if there was any mutual relief to their meetings, but McCoy seemed more at ease seeing to as much of the blond’s well being personally as possible, so he let it be.

Out on the town though? Kirk could go buckwild. Say what he liked, do what he liked. Hell, do _who_ he liked. The prospect of knocking back a few drinks then finding some pretty young thing to lavish sent a tingle of excitement up his spine, despite still being an estimated three hours away from their destination. The time was welcomed though, to soon be occupied with a shower, a little bit more packing and maybe a quick drink before being set free, just to get the evening going. Such was the plan, a towel slung over his shoulder and everything, until the door chimed.

Kirk frowned. Bones usually checked in over the comms before coming for a visit, and Spock was far too formal to meet anywhere except publicly on the Bridge, in the Rec Room or the Food Hall, so whoever had taken a wander up to his quarters was a mystery to our dear captain. Curiosity got the better of him as he called out a decisive “Come in!”

“Am sorry if is bad time, Keptin,” a hesitant head of curly hair announced as the doors before him parted with a hiss, leaning in through the arch to peer deeper into the room.

“Chekov,” Kirk greeted, stepping away from the clothes heap on his bed and beckoning said lieutentent towards a desk lotted into the nearby corner. “Not at all, get in here.” With a gracious nod, Chekov marched his way over to sit on one of the plush chairs facing into the room, back uncomfortably straight and his hands tense.

“At ease, soldier,” Kirk teased with a cock of his head, amused by the sudden slouch of young shoulders to soon follow. Setting down his towel, he joined the lieutenant in the opposing chair and pressed his hands together expectantly. “What can I do you for?”

“If is not too much to ask,” Pavel started, visibly unsure of himself as he shifted in his seat. “I… would like your advice on personal issue, sir.”

“Oh?” the older man ushered, eyebrows knitting together. Considering how scandalous- no, _serious_ an issue would have to be to be brought directly to the captain’s attention, he leaned forward eagerly. “Computer, freeze music program.”

“See, sir, is-”

“Jim. Call me Jim.”

“Ahh,” Chekov affirmed, nodding slowly to try and get himself back on track. “J-Jim… is problem am having with shore leave.”

“You and Mr Sulu both asked to be bunkmates for the week, did they mess that up?”

“Oh, no no! Apartment is perfect! Have… uh… _me_ problem.”

“Go on.”

“Sir- Jim, hope I am not assuming too much when saying that… you have experience with men?”

“Well… it is the twenty-third century, Chekov,” the captain mused carefully, not having expected his sexual ventures to be the subject of scrutiny by an officer his junior that Friday evening. “We've got more information these days than we've ever had before, most people-”

“Sorry, not to misunderstand,” the younger man interjected with a note of panic, raising his hands defensively. “That is where I ask your advice, Keptin.”

“... Oh,” Jim blinked plainly, easing into his seat and giving the guy a softer expression to work with.

“See… I have been with few women. And is very nice. I like women all my life, I think. But… am not sure if… ahh, sorry, I cannot find words.”

“You're questioning, is what you’re trying to say.”

“E-explain?”

“Well, there’s a million and one ways to identify, and sitting with the one thing all your life would get pretty boring. You’re still young, you don’t have it set in stone just yet. It's normal to be curious about what else is out there.”

“Yes!” the lieutenant exclaimed, face lighting up as he bounced in his seat. “Is like space! Infinite universes, endless possibilities!”

“Exactly,” Kirk smiled warmly, amused by the kid’s comparison. “So what is it you need advice on? It can be a bit daunting to come to terms with. Trust me, I know.”

“I have thought about it for good while, it does not trouble me,” Chekov hummed, looking into his lap with his eyebrows furrowed. “I am just… not sure how to go about it? Finding person interested, I am little bit intimidated.”

“Awh c’mon, give yourself some credit! You were chatting up that girl the last time we were in Yorktown, what was her name… you took her for a drink, uhh…?”

“Natalia?”

“Yeah, her. She looked pretty smitten, sounds to me like you've got charm to spare, doesn't matter who it's aimed at.”

“But was different! Is whole new learning process to talk to men in such way! And sir, I love learning. But I do not know with this. I- I am scared will come off wrong.”

“Hmm…” Kirk nodded slowly, leaning into the backrest of his chair heavily. The transition of applying his flirtation skills to the same sex had been a relatively smooth one in his own experience, but then again enamouring the masses was a skill he had to hone from a very early age if he wanted to survive foster homes and borderline prison encampments. Such survival skills likely never proved necessary for a kid smart enough and with a background stable enough to be on the bridge of a damn starship at the age of seventeen. Taking a deep breath, he levelled himself to take a step into the shoes of the worried lieutenant sitting across from him. And then, an idea struck him. “So your chatting-up might need some tweaking, we can get to that. But I suppose trying to pick up somebody else in your position wouldn't do you much good.”

“I do not follow…”

“Let me phrase it better. What age are you now, Chekov?”

“Twenty-four. Uh- Jim.”

“Alright, let's review; you're twenty-four, very easy on the eyes and essentially have the personality of a puppy ya just wanna bundle up and mush your face against,” the captain explained while counting off each point on a finger for emphasis, ignoring the taken aback crane of the younger man’s neck at his choice of words while a mischievous grin split his features. “It wouldn't be too wild a stretch of the imagination for _you_ to be the one being picked up.”

“You… you think so?”

“Why not? Don't need your first experience ruined because the other person doesn't know what they're doing. How would you feel about getting with an older man?”

“ _Oy_ …” Pavel gave a pained expression and scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Am sorry keptin, I do not think doing with you would be such a good idea.”

“Not me, you little-” Kirk barked, shooting him a half hearted scowl. Making a choking motion from afar, then tensing and relaxing his hands, he set the record straight. “What I was saying, is I might know a guy.”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” the lieutenant blurted hurriedly, clasping a hand over his mouth to withhold a snicker. Jim’s scowl only deepened, but the quirk upward of his lips and the dramatic crossing of his arms gave away his more playful attitude. “Sorry sorry sorry… please, tell more - I am listening.”

“You're lucky I like you. Otherwise this next hour would be a nightmare,” he warned, shaking his head incredulously and getting to his feet while the shorter male regained his composure. “I'm not even that old!”

“Wait, what is happening?”

“Gotta get you a suitable man-chasing outfit, don't I? My friend’s got some, uhh… _niche_ interests, I don't think they'll be too out of your comfort zone though.”

“Ahh! Okay... who is the friend?” Pavel beckoned, hands pressed to the edge of his seat at either side of his knees as he leaned forward curiously.

“Oh, pssh… God’s in the details!” the captain snorted in dismissal, pulling down a keepsake box from the top shelf in his closet full of clothes from when he was less filled out. “I've never lead you astray on duty, have I? Why would I with something as sensitive as this? I'm hurt, Chekov, truly! Besides, I fancy myself quite the connoisseur of good lays. And this guy? He's thorough alright, _very_ good with his hands. Now get up and strip, you didn't leave me an awful lot of time to work with.”

“If you say so, Keptin,” the lieutenant yielded, standing to wrangle his engineering gear off. He had put his life in this man’s hands countless times. In fact every time he set foot on the Bridge. Surely this was no different? The Captain was a good man, had good instincts.

Chekov had faith in him and his intentions.


	2. This Must Be the Place

“Can I’ve a top up, please?” Leonard called out to the young woman behind the bar, raising his empty glass for emphasis. Giving him a friendly wink and a grin that made the piercings in her dimples poke out slightly, the bartender turned to the back wall to retrieve a tall bottle of bourbon. Each perky step made the twin buns of blonde hair at the sides of her head bounce, an easy swagger to her hips as she faced him once more.

“So, what’s your damage?” she prodded, pouring McCoy’s double from a height to show off while leaning an elbow on the countertop and cradling her bust into her forearm.

“Can't say I know what you mean,” the brunet drawled, dismissive as he raised his drink just beneath his nose. Giving it a light swirl to open up the bourbon, he inhaled its aroma - faintly oaky, all the more prominent neat.

“Awwh c’mon,” she pouted playfully, screwing the bottle’s lid back on and placing it on the smooth surface of the bar. “It’s peak hours on a Friday night and you've been moping here for a good forty minutes. Either you've been stood up, or you've nothing better to be doing back home.”

“A man just enjoying a drink by himself’s not an option, huh?”

“In a place like this?” the girl raised her eyebrows at him in disbelief, making a motion towards the neon-lit dance floor and hustle and bustle of lively bodies mere meters away. “Not really, no.”

“... Alright, good to know it's _that_ obvious,” he scoffed into the first sip from his glass, slumping into the countertop and making the young bartender giggle. With a sympathetic pat to his free hand and a bemused shake of her head, she left him be and took the order of a new customer that had stepped up.

Leonard glanced back over his shoulder, grimacing slightly at the vast expanse of the nightclub - all deep red walls with various DJ and band posters plastered over them at random intervals, vibrating away to the heavy thrum of bass and drum beats emanating from massive speakers bolted into the high corners of the main room. The back wall had a raised platform to be occupied by the DJ decks and MC for any given evening, the left one lined with booths and tables tucked away for some privacy from the late 20th Century Earth style dancefloor, the chessboard pattern glass tiles having colour-alternating lights under them to add to the retro-esque feel.

The girl was right - nearly every body packed like a sardine into the dance space had a partner to bump along with, or was flirtatiously rocking and swaying away with the intent of enticing one in. The booths didn’t tell a much different story, either occupied by couples huddled into the corners getting all heated and handsy or freshly deserted with the question of _yours or mine?_ still hanging thick in the air. The club was a meeting point for those hoping to sate their fervent desires for new flesh, or to spice up an evening before delving down the beaten path of skin well-explored yet thrilling anew with every caress. This much was obvious.

And Leonard? Well, evidently he stuck out like a sore thumb.

His closed posture, his choice of place to hover, his fashion choices that indicated his age in a rather unfortunate way - all of it screaming single, yet not a connotation of availability to his name. Dragging his free hand over his face harshly then pausing with his palm level to his mouth, Leonard let out a sigh of frustration.

What was he thinking? That if he drank himself silly and just brooded away, somebody would eventually be struck by some divine supernatural force and suddenly want to talk to him? A ridiculous notion, and yet… three consecutive leaves in a row, he had gone through these exact motions. Saunter into some bar, plop himself down, slowly drain a bottle of something strong then, in the wee hours of the morning, grumble about being lonely all the way home. It was pathetic, to say the very least. And at that stage, possibly self inflicted. The humiliation of getting one’s hopes up then realising the notion was half baked and inevitably fruitless started to seep in and McCoy’s expression soured further.

Something had to change.

Drawing his PADD from the inside pocket of his jacket, the doctor transferred the credits for his previous drinks and the remnants of the bottle sitting before him to the computer of the bar, well disguised as an old cash register. Satisfied by the electronic chime he was met with, he grabbed the bottle by the neck and strode off in the direction of the bathroom, head held high and back straightened with conviction. Granted, he probably could have just returned to his drink after the fact and spared himself and a number of other tenants the odd looks of exactly _why_ he needed the container in accompaniment, but that was besides the point.

Leonard was going to fix his hair, splash water on his face, stare hard at himself in the communal mirror, incidentally knock back some more liquid courage, then try again.

Clean slate.

He could do this.

*

Ducking under the arm of the club’s enormous bouncer, Pavel offered a meek smile over his shoulder at the comically waving Captain bidding him farewell before padding with a soft jangle down the narrow corridor leading inside. The rumble of the music previously muffled from outside grew clearer and louder the further he delved into the throbbing belly of the establishment, able to recognise the instruments and sound patterns to be of distinct Earth origin. Dating from approximately 1970 to 2000 in Earth years, he would wager. Not that Chekov didn't _like_ classical music, it just wouldn’t have typically been his first choice to listen to.

As he dodges a pair from an alien race he can't quite put his finger on that are likely five minutes from ripping each other’s clothes off, going by the heated mouth-meld they're engaged in, Pavel finally steps into the dancehall and his entire face lights up.

The lively music draws a lasso into the warm air, circling it up high before hurling it out, ensnaring the honey blond and wrangling him in. Submitting easily, he trots on, a soft bounce in time with the electronic tune’s bassline to his step. Maybe he _could_ get into the vintage sound.

He catches the eye of a few dancers as he passes, his chest filling with warmth under their inviting gazes, the odd lip bite here or a wandering eye there. The fact a number of said gazes were coming openly from male spectators was what made Pavel's breath hitch. He knew he had been checked out by other men before, of course, but it had always been with an edge of caution - a discreet look in his direction and maybe a smile, but nothing more. On this occasion however, Pavel was sure one fine Andorian across the way was trying the utmost to undress him with his dark eyes, and the lieutenant did little to contain his glee.

As he weaved his way through the pulsing crowd of people, taking short thoughtful pauses to swing his hips or shimmy his shoulders with a whimsical grin whenever small groups would envelope and attempt to indoctrinate him into their cult of lurid dance moves before moving on, Chekov kept his eyes on the bar.

He nearly wept with joy at the sight of physical glass bottles decorating the shelves behind the bar, filled with various oddly coloured but very real liquids. Many bars, particularly on stations as populated as Yorktown, had favoured the convenience of replicator technology to get as many drinks out as quickly as possible over the niche sentimentality only a small few still clung to at that point for getting the _authentic_ drinking experience. But the captain had said his friend liked his niches, and the club Chekov was slowly scoping out more of certainly seemed to appreciate the appeal of a ritualistic pouring of shots and manual mixing of cocktails.

The lieutenant had to admit, even that made him feel a little giddy - he, too, loved the whole process of watching one’s drink being prepared then sitting back to take in all of the telltale notes of a handcrafted brew and savour every drop. This mystery man Kirk had set him up with was taking all sorts of forms in Pavel’s head and he just wanted to meet him already! To find out if he was bright and warm much like the captain himself, full of charming smiles and humour and knowing _exactly_ the right thing to say to get you one on one in a bathroom stall within the hour. Or if he was the strong and silent type, needing a little bit of warming up to really take his walls down but ever so attentive once you had his interest, receptive and sensitive to your needs and desires and acting accordingly later on in private.

Pavel couldn't tell which man he’d like better, the spontaneous thrill of one against the sensual puzzle of the other - each had his own distinct sexiness to him. Good thing the blond didn't actually have to make a choice like that, because then he probably would have just grabbed both and _ran_.

Finally reaching the bar, Chekov drummed his fingers against the wood surface idly and hummed aloud. Spotting a wood panel nailed to the back wall and painted matte black to allow what looked like chalk to make markings on it - this place really wasn't playing around in their dedication to the antique-feel charade - the lieutenant skimmed down the neatly written menu before settling on something familiar.

“Can I have one whiskey sour, please?” he took care to properly annunciate over the music, flashing a warm smile and a small wave to the bartender. Nodding to confirm she had heard him, she set about serving a few of the previous customers their drinks before concocting up his. She chopped, juiced and discarded a lime’s soon-to-be carcass with masterful fluidity, following up the other ingredients into a metal cup with some of the most precise measurements Pavel had ever been privileged enough to witness. Putting the top on the cocktail shaker and raising it to shoulder level to give it a good rigorous mixing, the bartender caught Chekov practically salivating over the process and grinned to herself.

Making a show of tossing the shaker into the air, the young woman quickly spun on the spot and caught it once she came around the full 360°, earning an excited clap and an exclamation of “ _Ukh ty!_ ” from her customer. Giggling away, she shook her head and uncapped the container, putting a strainer over the lip then pouring its contents decadently into a chilled glass. Placing it with finality in front of the lieutenant, she scuttled back a few steps before bowing dramatically.

Pavel sang her praises with a warm smile on his face, making a _cheers_ motion to her with his drink in hand before taking a sip. A satisfied shiver ran through him at the sharp taste, his eyes pressing shut as he was thrown back to an early childhood memory of tasting a lemon drop for the first time - he had spat the candy out on the first go, claiming it wanted to eat the inside of his mouth, but was willing to give it another try when his giggling mother had one for proof of the sweet’s harmlessness. Since then, Chekov had always been fond of and seeked out more sour flavours, particularly when it came to his choice of cocktail.

Turning to face out at the dancefloor, Pavel let his free hand rest absently back against the countertop. Over the lip of his glass, his eyes made a broad sweep of the club and considered his options. How the Captain had figured he would be able to spy out one man among a possible couple hundred without knowing so much as what he looked like, nevermind a name to go off of, was beyond the honey blond.

Naturally, he could ditch the plan altogether and wiggle his way over to the stocky man with salt and pepper hair across the way that he had caught sneaking a glance at him, poorly disguised by a hand running through those dark strands up top. But something in the young lieutenant’s chest ached at the prospect of not trying. The night was young and, if he did find his intended date and they weren't going to work at all, Pavel could always go somewhere else. After all, the level of fun one has is down to having the right attitude, not where you're trying to have it - or so Scotty would have been likely to say. And so, he waited around, keeping a curious eye out.

*

Blathering at the icy sting of the cold water he had just splashed up against his face, Leonard slowly lifted his head out of his hands and stared at himself hard in the mirror. His eyes were a tad bleary and his shirt collar now donned speckles of backsplash, but otherwise he looked acceptable. The rosiness in his cheeks slowly dissipated now that their surface temperature was settling down and so the brunet felt like he was back in the driver’s seat.

Nabbing a few paper towels and pressing them in against his face, he let out a heavy breath through his teeth to psych himself up then binned the small bundle. Next, he grabbed the bottle of bourbon to drain it down his throat before abandoning it at the one side of the sink. Leonard finally turned from the mirror and shook out his hands, his head clear as he was ready to face the club once more.

Emerging from the bathroom with his hands stilled and his head held high, McCoy took his sweet time in making his way back to the bar. Noting the influx of new attendees with marked interest, he let his posture relax accordingly. For all these other patrons who hadn't seen him moping knew, he may as well have just arrived too. Quirking an eyebrow at the stranger standing in his previous spot, Leonard let his eyes take a slow mosey up the back of the young man’s body.

His choice of slim fit jeans complimented his legs well, as they were toned and shapely without too much fuss of muscle going on and anything tighter would make him look like a stick. His body was a similar story - lithe, lean - and had a navy cotton shirt hanging from it, featuring a pinstripe pattern. The shirt itself looked to be a few sizes too big, but it was tucked in at the back and rolled up at the already short sleeves, no doubt left unbuttoned in the front for another tasteful fashion choice underneath. The sneakers were a bit youthful for Leonard’s taste, but it could be forgiven for what he could spy over the peak of the shirt’s collar;

A thin stripe of black leatherette and a buckle.

Wetting his lips subtly, the doctor settled atop a stool to the younger male’s left before subtly clearing his throat.

It was one of those now or never moments.

“Whiskey sour’s a pretty seasoned choice,” Leonard announced thoughtfully, regarding the guy’s drink with a small cock of his head. “Forgive me if my eyes are deceivin’ me, but I gotta say - I'm impressed.”

That had been the smoothest chat up line McCoy had conjured up in probably years at that stage. So smooth he might have been very proud of himself for getting his target audience’s attention, had the ocean green eyes and honey blond mass of curls of the Enterprise’s navigator not been the ones to greet him.


End file.
